


We'll have teacakes in the Capitol

by captainofthegreenpeas



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Affection, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Heavenscoin, Hugs, Light!Alma, Platonic Female/Male Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 16:56:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13839069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainofthegreenpeas/pseuds/captainofthegreenpeas
Summary: Plutarch isn't Latham, but he's enough.





	We'll have teacakes in the Capitol

It had been hours since they began, but still they were no closer to finishing. Alma had to resist the urge to bury her face in her hands. Presidents must show no more frustration than they do boredom, no more boredom than they do weakness. She may want nothing more than to retire to her quarters, don her sleeping garments and the crisp linen cap she wore to keep her hair tidy and clean and then sleep her way to victory; but material wants were inferior to the revolution.   
_Material wants make the Capitol weak_ , she thought. _They make us all weak_. She could not be weak.   
Plutarch’s face was expressing on the outside what she was feeling on the inside. His fingers were ploughing furrows through his hair, which was tempting her to do the same herself, but that would lead to messy hair, ergo impossible.   
“There must be another way,” she said finally. “we just haven’t thought of it yet.”   
“How could we not have thought of it yet? We’ve been going over this problem for MILLENNIA.”   
“In District Thirteen, five hours is not a millennia, Heavensbee. But maybe time flies faster in the Capitol.”   
“Maybe.” he conceded. “Maybe we should postpone this for the morning. Slaving away fruitlessly over it into the small hours is counterproductive. Let’s just sleep on it.”   
“I am not sleeping with you Heavensbee.”    
He held up his hands defensively. “Did I say that?”   
“My mother warned me about Capitolites like yourself. Debauched hedonists, every one.” She turned her face haughtily away.   
“Not this one, madam president.” Plutarch’s voice was quiet and gentle. He came closer.   
“No, you were probably too busy drinking coffee.” She snapped, more curtly than she intended.   
“Now that’s not fair.” He pretended to look sternly at her. “I didn’t just drink coffee. Sometimes I ate teacakes.”   
“Teacakes? Cakes made of tea?” She frowned.    
Plutarch looked appalled. “You’ve never eaten tea cakes before?”   
“I’m not inferior because of it,” she replied defensively.    
“Never said you were. But should we take the Capitol, you have to eat some teacakes.”   
“You’re always saying that,” Alma grumbled. “When we take the Capitol this, when we take the Capitol that. At this rate I’ll never get any work done in the Capitol because I’ll constantly be trying your recommendations.”   
“Okay, maybe the other things can wait. But you have to try tea cakes. With butter and jam.”   
“I hate jam.”    
“You can’t hate jam. You’ve never had jam.”   
“I hate the idea of jam,” she insisted childishly, before adding after some thought. “But I could compromise. Marmalade.”   
“Splendid. See? This session hasn’t been a total waste of time. We’ve actually made a decision now.”   
“Oh, wonderful.” Alma said sarcastically. “The people of Thirteen will be so pleased to hear I’ve finally chosen to have marmalade with tea cakes.”   
“They’ve been awaiting your choice with baited breath.” Plutarch’s face was almost as deadpan as hers, which was gradually slipping into amusement. She must be getting tired. It was then she realised his hand was on the back of her chair.   
“If I am not mistaken, your hand is on my chair.”   
“…yes it is.”   
“According to the law, you have entered my sphere of personal space.” She informed him.   
“If you want, I can move out of the sphere of personal space.” He said seriously. “I’m quite a tactile person. Just tell me to shove off.”   
“I don’t see why you should do that.” She leaned into her chair and felt his thumb at her back. Suddenly she wondered how he would react if she moved closer. She leaned gingerly towards him. Plutarch smiled at her. _He’s a serpent, like all the Capitolites_ , she thought. But his smile is genuine. _I will allow myself friendship here_ , she decided. But no more. Her guard must not drop, not once. It only had to fall once. It certainly would not fall for him.   
Plutarch shifted and wrapped her in a loose and casual hug. She showed no surprise.   
“What… are you doing.”   
“Something I should stop doing?”   
“No, but what are you doing?”   
“…by the looks of things, I’m giving you a hug.” Alma had to admit, it felt not unpleasant at all. It was respectful in its distance but still affectionate. _Latham held me like this_ , she remembered. Latham was nothing like Plutarch in demeanour, but his brotherly gestures had been similar. Plutarch might not replace him, but in an embrace like this it didn’t seem to matter. She felt herself relaxing and her hands calmly rested on his shoulders.    
“So this ‘hugging’ of which you speak… is it a Capitol invention?”   
“You’re kidding me, right?”   
“I am President of District Thirteen, Heavensbee. I never, as you say, 'kid’. Might I remind you that our dictionaries, therefore our linguistic law, states that a kid is a baby goat.” But a small wry smile crossed her face. Alma extracted herself and got to her feet. “Time to conclude this meeting, I believe. I wish you goodnight.”   
Plutarch nodded. He stood and bowed with unusual humility, before leaving the room humming the Hanging Tree loudly to himself.    
“May I remind you,” she called sternly to him down the corridor. “People are sleeping.”   
But as she briefly passed the mirror in her quarters, she noted with approval that he hadn’t tried to ruffle her hair. That was good. A friendship seemed in good stead.


End file.
